And the farther I walked the heavier that blessed satchel of mine got.

It weighed maybe ten or twelve pounds at the corner of 42nd Street, but when I got as far as the open square where the gilt woman is hurryin' to keep from bein' run over by Gen'ral Sherman on horseback--that statue, you know--I wouldn't have let that blessed bag go for less'n two ton, if I was sellin' it by weight.

So I leaned up against an electric light pole to rest and sort of get my bearin's.

Then I noticed what I'd ought to have seen afore, that the street wa'n't paved with cobbles, as it used to be, but was smooth as a stretch of state road down home.

So I figgered that a bus was a safe risk, after all.